Poems
The Lash
Martha Gilbert Dickinson
'Tis
not the sunshine or the blessedness of life,Nor love, the healer of despair,Nor laurels torn from sullen fields of strife,Nor nightfall's certitude of care—I most thank God for; 'tis the lash!That cuts my faceTo one swift surging consciousness,That I all but betrayed a royal placeAnd pawned my soul for fate's caress.
The Infinite
BY CLARENCE A. BUSKIRK.
I.
From Safety
A safe refuge
Trust in God opens the door to a safe refuge, always available and always at hand.